


March

by solarSage



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Character Death, Dadza, Dream SMP Lore, Headcanon, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, So be warned, Spoilers, TommyInnit's Death, i successfully hurt my friend who read the chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-14 22:00:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29798481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solarSage/pseuds/solarSage
Summary: A series of events following Tommy's death written from a different point of view, including some flashbacks and headcanons of my own.
Kudos: 51





	1. Author's notes

This work is a series of events that had happened on and after March 1st, 2021 (aka the day TommyInnit's character in the Dream SMP universe has died), written from another point of view or something like that, including some headcanons and flashbacks. Keep in mind that the contents of this writing are simply interpretations of the events and are fan-created. This first chapter serves as a basis for all the headcanons that will be included in the story. Feel free to skip to the next chapter.

Headcanons:

  1. Dream's appearance - I have four versions of what I think Dream may look like. 
    1. Shapeshifter - Dream is a white blob as we all know he is, but if he wants or needs to, he can shapeshift into a human form, aka the popular form people draw him in; blond/brunette with green eyes (I don't remember his eye color honestly so disregard this lol), wearing a green hoodie and white mask.
    2. Shapeshifter v2 - Dream shapeshift into the same human form, except he doesn't have a face under the mask or only has a mouth for eating.
    3. Shapeshifter v3 - My favorite out of these three; Dream shapeshifts into a human form but has a white orb with his signature smile for a head. He either lacks a head, making the orb float and turn whichever way, or has a neck so he may look like some effed up doll.
    4. IronDream (idk what to call this one) - Dream is a regular human being who wears a white mask and has prosthetic limbs instead of the... well... fleshy limbs. Prosthetics are made of a light white metal material and are enchanted so he can move them and feel with them as if they are actually his limbs. (this will be the appearance I have chosen for Dream in this fic)
  2. Dream's Mother - basically, Puffy is Dream's mother. Whether adopted or not, I am not sure, but he is Puffy's little duckling turned crazy war criminal.
  3. SBI family - Philza has mentioned in a recent stream that in the DSMP, Wilbur is his biological son. So Technoblade and possibly Tommy are not his sons. (we all know Tubbo is 'adopted'). I like to think that Techno grew up alongside Wilbur as a mentee to Phil, thus making them old friends, while Tommy is some raccoon-child searching for food near Philza's house. Wilbur found him and took him, thus making him part of the family.
  4. Royalty - Technoblade is a lost prince.



**More will be added...**


	2. He's gone.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's gone.

It was quiet.

His rage was, at least. It was quiet at first, growing within his mind like a flower in fast speed. Quiet as he was as he listened to the _annoying_ child. The _one_ person that he thought could face him even with the weakest weapons, because he was that determined and brave.

Now standing next to him in the Pandora’s Vault, nervous, scared, angry as well…

Then it was loud.

Loud and pounding in his head like a hammer hitting nails. There’s shouting. There are words he can’t understand, a voice not his own. And he opens his mouth and god knows what came out. And he can’t think nor do anything. He moves and speaks as if he’s not his own self.

And it goes quiet again.

Dream lets out a breath, tired and lost. His prosthetic hands are warm and wet with something red, and he trembles in shock and terror.

Why isn’t Tommy yelling anymore? Why has he gone quiet? He’s never this quiet. Never.

All he can hear is the lava, the crying obsidians’ droplets, and his labored breathing. But it was all too quiet.

He looks at where Tommy had stood, where blood colored the floor. There’s a lump there, in white and red. So much red. It’s in his hair, on his skin, and even some in his eyes. 

Dream slumps down against the chest, a few feet away from Tommy. There’s a pounding in his head again, and it’s his heart. Pounding erratically as he takes in the image of the _poor_ child. He grabs at his hair with blood-stained cold hands. 

_What happened? This wasn’t supposed to happen. No. No no no no._

He remembers the odd times that he was able to act like himself. The times he spent with Tommy as if he was his friend. The times when he was himself.

_No… no… it happened again no it happened again…_

And there’s that voice again. Distorted, deep, airy and echoing in his mind, lingering and corrupting like a plague. It rules his mind. It clenches around his head with an iron grip. And it blames him or rather _PRAISES HIM._ Praises him for his success, for his obedience.

 _I didn’t kill him. I didn’t kill him, it wasn’t me._ It wasn’t me _IT WASN’T ME_

“ _What. Did. You. Do._ ”

He gasps and looks up at the only other living person within the room. Sam, for once, is in the core of Pandora’s Vault, clad head to toe in shiny netherite. The visor of his gas mask reflects the mess of the room; a dead cat, a dead boy, and a killer drenched in blood.

“Sam! Sam, thank god you’re here!” Dream scrambles up to his feet. “Sam, you need to help me. T-Tommy… you need to help Tommy—“

“I don’t think there’s any helping I could do for Tommy,” Sam interrupts him. Dreams know him enough, that although he often speaks in a calm tone, that he’s livid and horrified. 

“No, no there has to be a way—“

“He’s gone,” Sam says and pulls his mask off. His eyes are glossy and angry, and he looks at him with a glare. “What did you do to him?”

“I…”

He watches as the warden kneels down and inspects Tommy. He takes off his gloves to search his skin, looking for a pulse even if Tommy had evidently stopped breathing. Scarred fingers trailed up to cover his eyes, and for a moment his hands tremble.

“... _He’s gone…_ ” Sam says once again, but in a softer tone, more broken than ever. “Clay, he’s gone.”

“Sam, I didn’t want this.”

“You did.”

“I didn’t! I-I fucking didn’t, I didn’t even know—“

“I don’t know what the fuck is going on, Dream,” Sam interrupts him once again. “I don’t know what the fuck is going on. But you planned this. You waited for this. Those explosions, him having to be locked up here with you; _You did this._ ”

Sam gathers Tommy up in his arms before he stands up. The boy’s arm dangles and there’s so much blood that it drips down his fingers. 

He’s never looked so calm before. It bothers Dream.

“I didn’t want to do this,” Dream said, voice soft. The pounding gets louder. 

Sam turns without a word. Dream looks up from the floor to watch him leave, the brick bridge waiting for him. He steps forward but finds himself trapped in the bloody room when the netherite blocks rise to block him. But he can still see the entrance, see someone run up where the bridge lands. 

“Puf… mom…?” Dream whispers as he looks at her. It’s been so long since he last saw her. He was told she’d be visiting him soon, and he didn’t think today would be the day.

And Puffy doesn’t smile at him. Puffy looks pale. Sam stops in front of her so she could see Puffy, who holds Tommy’s face in her hands. They exchange words, and it causes Puffy to look into the room Dream is trapped in.

She stares in horror and in sadness before the lava all comes down to encase the room in hot death.

And then it’s quiet again.

Nothing but the pop and bubble of lava. Nothing but the _drip drip_ of the crying obsidian. He burned the clock, so he couldn’t hear it, but the sound echoes in his head, along with that voice and his heartbeat, and the profanities Tommy yelled at him. His last words.

“He’s gone,” he whispers to himself. “He’s gone. He’s gone. Tommy’s gone. Tommy’s gone… Tommy’s…”

“ _Gone_.”

“Why did you do it?”

“Why not.”

“What the fuck do you mean why not? Wh-What the fuck do you mean…”

“He was in our way. You can’t exactly do your ‘revenge’ with him alive.”

“Revenge… I didn’t want… why a-are you doing this to me? To us?”

Quiet. Quiet again.

Dream slumps down in a corner. He feels cold despite the wall of lava on the other side of the room. It was cold despite the warm blood on his arms. 

_He’s gone._

It echoes in his mind.

_He’s gone._

It was quiet once again in Pandora’s Vault.


	3. Half a heart.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> half a heart left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keep in mind that this series is fanfiction, so nothing written here is canon, especially this chapter. However, if the writing just so happens to predict future events in the Dream SMP, then it is purely a coincidence.
> 
> And yes I wrote the last chapter and this chapter in one day.

He wears a band around his wrist every day. It’s made of cloth and has a red gem in a shape of a heart. This heart-shaped gem is divided into four parts, one for each boy he has raised and held dear to his own heart.

This morning, three of these pieces were glowing red. One has lost its shine for a while now, after what had happened on November 16th. He’d stare long and hard at that part often, even until today, after everything that he’s done. Sometimes he would think, and be in denial, that that piece of the heart will light up again, and his boy will be back alive. Living, breathing, singing his beautiful songs of heartache and of a nation long gone.

But that will not happen. At least, not now. He either read the wrong ancient books, or there were some missing texts; but he knows that in the future, Wilbur will be revived. He will see to it.

For now, three heart stones remain glowing red. One for Technoblade, the boy he took in and taught all that he knew. One for Tubbo, another boy he took in and raised as if he was his own. And one for Tommy.

Tommy.

He remembers the day Wilbur walked back into the house after throwing out the garbage, pulling along a shorter, dirty kid with messy blond hair and big blue eyes. Philza had joked back then that Wilbur thought a raccoon was his new brother. The joke stuck for many years; Tommy liked the joke a lot as Wilbur found it funny and cute.

Philza took Tommy in after that one day. He was loud and obnoxious, but he was still a good child.

_ Tommy. _

He wonders where he is right now. After the war, their relationship has broken and is beyond repair. But Phil can’t deny that he still thought of him as if he was his real child. He was loud, obnoxious, started many wars… but Phil has a stupid old heart that goes soft thinking of the boys he raised. 

He misses him.

But… there is nothing he can do now. At least he thinks so. Someday they will be meeting again, but he won’t know when.

It’s a quiet day, as well as cold. As always, considering where he now lives. He throws some coal into the little fireplace he built and sits back on a chair in front of it. He opens a book and places it on his lap. It was a habit. He’d place a book on his lap so he can see his wristband and its glowing heart. He’s been looking at it more now, ever since that feeling he had a week ago.

He had been building his house when something struck him. It wasn’t lightning, nor arrow, especially not a trident. No one was around him that day to hit him. He could not explain what it was. But all he knew was that he was fetching materials for the house one moment when some strong feeling overcame him, stopping him, and making his whole body tense up. Even his wings reacted instinctively.

He doesn’t know what that was about. He hopes it’s nothing serious, and it was just some weird feeling he had about his house.

He flips to the next page of the book, the fire pops and crackles. It was too quiet. 

Fifteen minutes pass.

He gets that odd feeling again, and he concludes that it was strangely quiet. It was too quiet.

This time he does not tense up. He only feels odd and numb. The only thing this feeling reminds him of was of  _ that _ day…

He tries to shake it off. He stands up, puts the book away, and makes himself a drink.

Five minutes pass.

One piece of the heart on his wristband flickers. He blinks and stares, then puts his drink down. He waits for it to do it again. Does he need to fix it? He hopes not.

… it doesn’t do it again.  _ Must be my imagination _ , he thinks.

Ten minutes pass.

He realized what was happening.

_ His  _ piece’s flickers. It flickers, and it flickers, and it stops. It stops and… the light goes out.

He feels his stomach drop. He feels sick. Then, he feels numb.

He remembers that day, November 16th, as clear as day. The feeling of dread, the fear he felt when he saw Wilbur’s piece flicker. He knew something had happened, that’s why he flew across the world to see him. 

_ Stupid. Stupid, stupid. You stupid old man. _

The song written on the walls of that room. Wilbur’s smile. And his words.

The fireworks.

The click of a button.

And everything that happened after that.

That was the first time in forever that a sword had felt heavy in his hand.

And after he let out his last breath, with a smile forever on his face, everything felt numb. Even the searing pain he once felt in his wings. Overwhelmed by a whirlwind of emotions caused by what he had done, and he was not even allowed to mourn afterward. He had to make sure that his other boys are alive and breathing.

Seven seconds pass.

One half of a heart.

_ Another lost boy. _

He leaves his door open as he ran out into the snow. It was cold, he didn’t bring his coat, but why would he care about that? For a moment he had forgotten that his wings were damaged and tried to fly, thinking it would be the quickest way to the mainlands. He didn’t bring any of his tools as he left in a hurry, and so he ran to the portal and through the Nether. Nevermind the flying ghasts or the suicidal mobs. 

He lost another boy.

_ I lost another boy.  _

It was quiet.

All you could hear was the wind and a father’s rushing footsteps.

Phil ran up the Prime Path, towards Tommy’s dirt shack. But he stopped when he saw Sam and Puffy. Sam was carrying something. Sam was carrying… Tommy.

Thoughts began to run wild in his mind, making him sick and confused. His hands were trembling, and there was something in his eyes.

“... Phil…”

He looked at Puffy and he felt something stream down his cheeks. She had tears in her eyes as well as she looked at him sympathetically. But Phil says nothing as he walked up to them. Sam’s expression is blank, but his eyes reflected Phil’s own emotions. 

“I’m sorry, Phil,” Sam says, soft and sincere. He shifts and moves his arm so Phil could get a better look at Tommy.

And Phil does so after a furious series of blinks, getting the tears out of his eyes. Tommy’s eyes are closed, thank god he doesn’t have to see his eyes. Phil raises his trembling hand to touch his face. He was still warm, not enough however to say that he’s still alive. He traces the small scars he had on his face, the bruised parts, and catches blood on his fingertips.

_ “Stay fucking still,” he told the insolent brat who could not stay still for his life. The boy somehow got into a fight with a fox and because of that, he had to cover some scars he gained from it. _

_ Finally, Phil managed to place the last bandage on the bridge of his nose. He let out an exhale and turned away from Tommy to close the first-aid kit. _

_ “Phiiiil, I hate these bandages!” Tommy complained, picking at his bandage. Phil turned around to swat his little hand away. _

_ “Should have thought twice before fighting that fox, Tommy,” Phil told him with a shake of his head. _

_ “He was looking at me funny!” the child exclaimed, jumping off of the bench. He picked up the stick he was using as a sword and began waving it around. “It looked me in the eyes and said ‘I will fucking—” _

_ “Hey! You’re like, eight years old. Shut.” Phil glared at him, “But to be fair, since you’re eight years old, it makes sense that you’d take on a dumb fucking fox. You and your imaginations, I swear…” _

_ “I may be eight but I’m a big man.” _

_ “Uh-huh.” _

_ “I’m massive! Like Wil and Techno!” _

_ “Sure.” _

_ Tommy huffs at that and turns away to start swinging at the air. Phil sighed and leaned back into the bench, his hand itching at the part of his palm where he was scratched by the fox. He had to tear the fox and Tommy apart. It was like the fox was fighting a rabid raccoon. He wonders how much Wilbur or Technoblade have had to tear him away from other woodland creatures. He wonders how much Wilbur and Technoblade have encouraged him to take on any creature that looks at him ‘funny’. _

_ He watched the kid swing and wipe at the air in front of him with his makeshift sword, and realizes that he had been copying Technoblade’s moves; the same moves Phil taught him. His gaze softens as he realized how lonely Tommy must feel nowadays now that his brother figures have all gone to go on their own adventures. He’s all alone nowadays because Phil was always away to work on his projects. Often, Wilbur and Technoblade were there to watch him and keep him out of harm’s way. _

_ “You’re lucky I was there to pull that fox off of you,” Philza comments. “If I hadn’t, you’d be fox food.” _

_ “I’d say I handled it well!” Tommy says as he stops to look at him.  _

_ “You did not. That’s why I had to cover you in bandages.” _

_ “Pfft, this is nothing,” Tommy says as he goes back to doing his ‘exercise’. Philza sighs and stands up. He finds a stick bigger than Tommy’s and used it to whack the one in Tommy’s hand. _

_ “Phil!” _

_ “Your posture’s wrong and you’re swinging blindly in all kinds of directions. It’s not a good way to practice,” Phil tells him and motions over to the stick. “Pick it up and I’ll tell teach you.” _

_ Tommy once looked annoyed, but now was interested, blue eyes sparkling in excitement. He does as he’s told and stands still. _

_ “I’ve asked Techno and Wil to teach me but they always make fun of me. Well, Wilbur tells me some tips but that’s it.” _

_ “Back straight, look at your opponent, aka me.” _

_ Tommy nods and does as he’s told again. “Speaking of, when do you think they’re coming back?” _

_ “Wil and Techno?” Phil asks as he steps up and uses the stick to wack his ankles, softly at least, just to show how far apart from his feet should be. “I dunno, Tommy. They’re both grown up now so they’ve left the nest. There’s a good chance they won’t be back any time soon.” _

_ Tommy frowns at that, and Philza felt bad. He sighed and kneeled down in front of him, to be at eye level with him. _

_ “I know you miss them.” _

_ Tommy faked a smile, “No I don’t.” _

_ “Yes, you do. You talk about them a lot. You literally sit on the porch, staring off as the sun rises in the morning. You wait for them every day and you cause a lot of trouble just to distract yourself from missing them more…” _

_ “Now, Phil, you didn’t have to call me out…” Tommy frowns again and looks away. Phil chuckles at him and pinches his cheek, causing him to yell out a “Hey!”. The boy then tries to wiggle himself free, flailing his arms about. _

_ “Look they’re not here anymore. Accept that. But I’ll still be here, ya know. They’re not here to keep you out of harm’s way but I’ll still be here to do that. I could even teach you some tricks. Just tell me. Yell for me. And I’ll be there.” _

_ Tommy stops looks at him with big blue eyes. “Always…?” _

_ “I said I can teach you so you can defend yourself…” Phil said with a sigh, “but you know what?” _

_ Phil pinched his cheek again and laughed as Tommy tried to pull his hand off of him again. _

_ “Sure, Tommy. I’ll always be there for you.” _

“I…” Phil stuttered out as he pulled his hand away from Tommy. “I wasn’t… I wasn’t there.”

He can’t imagine how painful it felt. He can’t imagine what he was thinking when it happened. When he was in danger, did he call for him? Is that what happened a week ago? He felt sick to his stomach just thinking of it.

And it felt even more painful to think about all the other times that he wasn’t there when he should be. And those few times when he, himself, caused him danger. He told himself that the destruction of L’manburg was a good thing. But he couldn’t stop thinking about how much harm he brought to him and to Tubbo.

The world was falling apart again.

He stares at Tommy again and slowly backs away. 

“Phil,” Puffy looks at him with a frown. “We have to… you know…”

“I-I… yeah, do that… I just need to… need to…”

_ One half of a heart. _

“Phil?”

_ First Wil, and now Tommy… _

“I have to go.”

* * *

By the time that he has come home, it has gotten colder and the flames in his little fireplace had gone down. It was dark now as well, and the wind howled outside. Philza stood in the doorway of his house. He had been the only one at his own home and Techno and Ranboo had been away for most of the week. He’s been alone during that time, but the dim light in his house and the empty space only he occupies make it feel even emptier and lonelier. It has been a while since he’s lived with the boys in one place. It’s a wonder how he feels tremendously alone now.

He doesn’t bother to shake off the snow on his clothes and wings as he walks up to his seat and just slumps down. He stares down at his wristband.

“You’re mocking me,” he says to no one. “You’re fucking mocking me.”

The half-heart gem seems to stare back in silence. 

“I made you so I know when they’re safe,” Phil speaks, “well, I guess you kinda served your purpose. I know now I have two left.”

It stares.

“... and I guess I could have done something about it…”

He squeezed his eyes shut and wipes at the tears that drip down his face.

“I have half of you left… and I didn’t do anything. I taught you guys everything I knew, everything I could. But I… I still should have been there…”

He slips the wristband off and clutched it tightly with both hands. He held it as if it was all he had left.

“Half a heart…” he sniffed and inhaled shakily, “half a heart is all I have left…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm @_Lee_Lopez_ on twitter, follow me there!


	4. Whispers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He whispers to you...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keep in mind that this series is fanfiction, so nothing written here is canon, especially this chapter. However, if the writing just so happens to predict future events in the Dream SMP, then it is purely a coincidence.
> 
> Also I had to redo this chapter because I forgot to watch Tubbo's reaction to Tommy's death lol.

_Ranboo whispers to you:_ is Michael safe?

 _You whisper to Ranboo:_ Yes Ranboo. For the tent time tonight jesus

 _Ranboo whispers to you:_ awesome

 _Ranboo whispers to you:_ sorry man, I just wanted to make sure.

 _You whisper to Ranboo:_ Thats fine big man i understand ^-^

 _Ranboo whispers to you:_ ok. Well. i’m here if you want to talk, tubbo. I’ll see you tomorrow

 _You whisper to Ranboo:_ Ok bye!

The wind picks up again, and a breeze combs through Tubbo’s brown hair. It’s peaceful on this island, surprisingly. He can only hear the wind and waves down below, as well as the rustling of leaves. Even if there were towers left over from the fight — even though the fight happened _here_ and he could remember it all vividly — it was still a peaceful island. A perfect place for him to settle his thoughts. To get the facts straight.

 _You whisper to awesamdude:_ Is it true?

 _awesamdude whispers to you:_ Hello Tubbo. What do you mean?

 _You whisper to awesamdude:_ About Tommy

Tubbo walks on over to the bed that he and Tommy left during the fight. He sat atop of it, still facing the horizon.

 _awesamdude whispers to you:_ I didn’t lie, Tubbo.  
 _awesamdude whispers to you:_ Tommy’s… really gone. I mean, didn’t you see him…?

 _You whisper to awesamdude:_ I just dont understand.  
 _You whisper to awesamdude:_ ive never been inside the prison or visited. And i think i never asked you much about it.  
 _You whisper to awesamdude:_ But how did he die? I always thoght visitors would be safe

 _awesamdude whispers to you:_ I never made it so that anyone physically can’t hurt anyone else. Only that one cannot break a block.

 _You whisper to awesamdude:_ I get that but  
 _You whisper to awesamdude:_ where the hell were you?

He looked up from his phone and watched the stars. It was getting cold, with how much the wind picked up. Now he knows that savannas get cold at night, and thought perhaps he should have brought his coat.

 _You whisper to awesamdude:_ I didnt pay much attention to what has happened to Tommy this week.  
 _You whisper to awesamdude:_ so i have no clue as to why he was stuck in the prison in the first place

 _awesamdude whispers to you:_ Explosions were heard around the prison. In the waiver he signed, it said that if something were to happen to the prison, he’d be there for a week. 

_You whisper to awesamdude:_ and why wasn’t he out of prison when its been a week?

 _awesamdude whispers to you:_ Because I never found out where the explosions came from. And because… I wanted to make sure Dream wouldn’t escape.  
 _awesamdude whispers to you:_ I can tell you everything in person, Tubbo

 _You whisper to awesamdude:_ 1 week

Tubbo trembles as he typed this. 

_You whisper to awesamdude:_ He was stuck with Dream in prison for 1 whole week.  
 _You whisper to awesamdude:_ I put him in exile for one week with the same man, sam  
 _You whisper to awesamdude:_ he did not speak much about his experience there  
 _You whisper to awesamdude:_ but i know sam  
 _You whisper to awesamdude:_ i was at logstedshire, and ghostbur told me some things  
 _You whisper to awesamdude:_ i thought he killed himself, sam  
 _You whisper to awesamdude:_ and a while ago youve told me that he was killed by dream, the same person who hurt him all throughout exile  
 _You whisper to awesamdude:_ and weeks ago we defeated dream. Weeks ago we won against him for once. Weeks ago i almot lost hi m again  
 _You whisper to awesamdude:_ it just doesnt add up. It doesnt make sense

 _awesamdude whispers to you_ : tubbo…

 _You whisper to awesamdude:_ he can’t be gone, sam.

 _awesamdude whispers to you:_ but you saw the body. We carried him back home  
 _awesamdude whispers to you:_ the blood and everything

 _You whisper to awesamdude:_ after everything sam. After everything i cant and wont believe hes gone  
 _You whisper to awesamdude:_ im here left to wonder what the hell he went through  
 _You whisper to awesamdude:_ im here left to wonder what the hell am i going to do now  
 _You whisper to awesamdude:_ my tommy is gone  
 _You whisper to awesamdude:_ and it could have been me, sam, but instead its tommy. tommy is gone  
 _You whisper to awesamdude:_ hes gone

Tubbo inhaled and wiped at his cheek. He had started crying and didn’t even notice. He was shaking as well, and it was hard to breathe. What was he to do now? Just sit here and cry? When Tommy now really needed a funeral?

Or maybe he doesn’t. Or maybe he does. Or he’s just too tired to think of this.

He’s thought of it way too many times, Tommy needing a funeral or not because he has had death scares too many times. And at one point he’s chosen to sacrifice himself so Tommy doesn’t die. 

What is he going to do now, now that he’s really dead?

Tubbo dragged himself off of the bed and back to the tip of the cliff. The night was approaching dawn, painting him in red and orange hues.

 _awesamdude whispers to you:_ im sorry tubbo

Tubbo let out a sigh and frowned down at the text.

 _You whisper to awesamdude:_ you left him there with dream  
 _You whisper to awesamdude:_ he died because he was locked in there with dream  
 _You whisper to awesamdude:_ i dont caree if it was a mistaek or if it you trued your hardest to get him out of there  
 _You whisper to awesamdude:_ you killed him.  
 _You whisper to awesamdude:_ i dont feel like talking to you right now sam. Im a long way from home

 _awesamdude whispers to you:_ get home safe, tubbo

Tubbo blinked fast as he looked over at the horizon. The sun had started to rise. He pocketed his phone, turned around and fell off the cliff, back facing the water.

He watched as the tip of the cliff slowly went further away as he dropped. As he blinked, he can see him and Tommy running around, swinging their swords and towering up to defend themselves from Dream. He blinks again and he sees a different scene. It was of his first day in the SMP with Tommy. Then it was them within the walls of old L’manburg. Him dancing in front of a fire, and Tommy watching with mild amusement written across his face.

Then he was in the water. The moment he broke the surface, he sucked in a breath and kept in before he was engulfed in the sea. But he kept his eyes open, and he stared up at the surface and saw…

 _Them_ … sitting on the bench, in front of a sunrise.

He moved his hand and reached out to the image. He started to swim up towards it.

_Tommy… are you really gone? Surely… surely not._

He broke surface again, his head coming out of the water. The picture was gone.

Tubbo started to breathe again, collecting himself, before he began to swim towards the boat he had used to get to the island. He climbed in and began to row away. The wind was back again, drying up his wet hair and made his clothes all cold to be in.

And he faced forward. His eyes felt sore and dry no matter how many times he blinked. He focused on getting home to Snowchester, to Michael. Again, it was a long way home. He’d want to get home as soon as he can.

_“I need someone to get back and tell my story. Cause I don’t know who’s gonna leave or who’s gonna die,” Tommy continues, “But I do know that if we go in with every single thing we got — cause, you know, every time we’ve lost, every time we’ve done something stupid, tonight is going to be the night… well we don’t have any other choice but to win.”_

Tubbo stopped rowing, his eyes widening as he listened in on the conversation that seemed to drift in the air. A distant memory. 

_“Because if we lose, Tubbo,” he hears the voice continue. “Then we’ve lost_ everything _.”_

Tubbo let out a sigh as he leaned back. The tears were already streaming down his face again.

“I thought we won, Tommy,” he mumbled as he sat there. “We got the discs back, didn’t we? And we both came home alive.

“Were we too optimistic?”

Tubbo cleared his throat and chuckled. With a shake of his head, he sat up straight. He reached for the paddles of the boat but did not start rowing. 

“Look at me talking to you as if you’re there, Tommy. Even if you are alive, you wouldn’t be able to hear me talk at all. You’d probably be near the mainland, gathering resources for the Big Innit Hotel. You’ve been keeping yourself busy, buddy. We don’t often go on adventures anymore.”

His hand goes to his pants and into his other pocket, where a lump of fabric was sitting. He pulled it out and unscrambled it in his pale hands. It was Tommy’s bandana, the thing he always wore everywhere. Sam was carrying Tommy to his house. Tubbo pretended that he didn’t see it, and at that point, he was still in disbelief. It fell off his neck and drifted behind Sam, and Tubbo was the only one who noticed. So he picked it up before going home.

It got wet from when he jumped into the water. But even so, there were still some bits of his blood left. He can’t remember the last time he went out without wearing it.

“I need you to talk to me, Tommy,” Tubbo speaks to the bandana, “I need to hear your voice. I… I need to hear you do those stupid jokes, Tommy. Talk about women, about beating someone up, about how tall you are…”

But the only thing that responded was his surroundings. The wind, the waves, the underwater life nearby.

“I need to listen to you Tommy. Please talk to me… about anything. Like we would on the bench. Please. Anything. Even a whisper…”

Tubbo’s hands clenched around the piece of fabric and pressed it to his chest, close to his erratically beating heart.

“ _What am I without you…?_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> follow me on twitter. I'm @_Lee_Lopez :)


	5. Wilbur.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilbur Soot? Wilbur? Wilbur fucking Soot? Wilby?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keep in mind that this series is fanfiction, so nothing written here is canon, especially this chapter. However, if the writing just so happens to predict future events in the Dream SMP, then it is purely a coincidence.
> 
> Man every time I finish a chapter a new lore stream drops and it makes it a bit hard to write the next chapter LMAO

Wilbur. 

Wilbur opened his eyes and saw the odd landscape before him. The same old landscape he’s been seeing for years. Everything was colorful but everything was also dark. In short, everything was in black and white. But everything was shaded rather dull and dark.

Somehow he could see clearly, even without a source of light. This place has been so interesting. He has studied a lot ever since he arrived here, the universe’s answers to many questions so accessible to him, yet he always found himself in awe in front of these several acres of grey grass, lacking some knowledge about it.

A metal pail materializes out of nowhere, so then he sat atop of it. This feels familiar, he thinks to himself. And as he sat there, he looked off into the horizon.

There are other two people here.

One was cozying up in the grass, dressed in a dull business suit. Rugged, dirty, sweaty. He notices him closing his eyes as he laid his horned head on the dirty. Now he’s asleep. He’ll be asleep for another three months.

And in the distance, a figure walks along the landscape. There is a distant song, echoing and distorted. Despite the distortion of the sound, he recognizes what music it was playing. He smiles at the masked man, who was mumbling nonsense to himself, before he looks down on his hands, clutching his knees.

He turns his hand upwards and a guitar.  _ My guitar.  _ Materializes in his grip. He positions it and sits comfortably, or as comfortably as he can on a bucket, and starts to play. He watches his fingers as he picks at the string. He glances at the monochrome landscape. At alcoholic, sleeping man. At the wanderer.

And he thinks,

_ It’s rather quiet down here, isn’t it? _

His music fills the air. It adds  _ something  _ to the dark sky. He wonders what time it should be right now. Night or day? He prefers it to be night. His song, unnamed and yet familiar, echoes across the lands, and yet no one pays attention to it.

_ Oh, to have an audience. _

He will admit, he misses having an audience. When he was alive, he didn’t really care if someone listened or watched. He composed and wrote for the purpose of creating something beautiful, something that meant something, something that made sense to him. But he is still quite used to having an audience.  _ I miss him singing along, I miss her listening with a smile… _

He looks off to the horizon again and imagines what it would be like to play in front of the sun.  _ Dreadful, probably.  _ He’d be hot and sweaty and burn in the sunlight, but he’d like that feeling still. He would pay no mind to the ickiness of wearing a coat in the sun as he had his guitar at the ready, prepared to play whatever song he had in mind.

Wilbur remembers setting out and traveling as well. He didn’t really like armor, so he’d stay somewhere safe at night. He’d mostly stay at villages if he ever came across one. He’d sleep in an inn right after playing a couple of songs at a tavern, like a traveling bard.

He’d miss traveling aimlessly around the legends. He had plenty of fun doing so. It was how he met Sally, as well. His dear scaly friend, mother to his son… sometimes he wonders how she’s doing, but he doesn’t miss her at all. Not in a sad sense, no. He’s moved on, but he still cared a bit.

He realizes that his feelings about her are… well… mixed.

He continues strumming.

Wilbur still misses traveling and wishes he hadn’t stopped. He only stopped because he once received a messenger crow from his dear, loving father. He crafted those mechanical birds for the sole purpose of being able to find the boys he raised, wherever they may be in the land. And he sent one with black, beady eyes who opened its mouth and spoke in his father’s voice.

“ _ That brat Tommy ran away. I still have Tubbo with me. But Tommy ran away, _

_ In search for you. _ ”

He had a responsibility back then, Wilbur remembers. And that responsibility was Tommy. The child was able to fend for himself when he was a child when he was at whatever age he was when Wilbur found him searching for food around their house, but  _ fucking hell  _ the child was reckless and caused many fights with many things. It was a wonder how he has not died before Wilbur found him. And so he was  _ his  _ responsibility, actually. He was but a brother figure, but he was the one who found the thin and dirty boy scouring for food in the garbage, like a hairless blond raccoon.

“ _ I need you to look for him. I’ve taught him sword lessons but I’m never really sure if that boy ever learned anything. _

_ He misses you. And he’s looking for you. _

_ Wilbur, take him home. Please. He’d listen to you. _ ”

He never did, and he never took him home.

Even if the child had looked up to him, Tommy was still his own man and he made decisions for himself even though certain consequences and warnings were set out in front of him. Tommy traveled to distant lands and had met several people. He met Dream, of all people. And Dream had invited him to stay in his own land.

Wilbur was happy for him. Of course, he was. He was still a child when he found him in that place but he was growing up, nonetheless.

But that still didn’t mean that Wilbur couldn’t leave him alone.

From then on he has stayed in the SMP and well… everyone knows what happens next.

Wilbur continues to strum his guitar.

He has done many things before he died. Terrorized many people. Even betrayed Tommy, Tubbo, Niki, Fundy… but oftentimes he

_ Sees them. Sometimes I can see them gathered around me, listening intently to my songs. _

Where are they now? He hasn’t checked up on them lately. But he knows Fundy can take care of himself. He always could have. And Niki was a cute and soft girl, but she was also very tough. And Tubbo.  _ God, don’t even get me started on that boy _ . He’s smart, and he was ready to be president last time Wilbur was alive. He can take care of himself.

And Tommy…

Tommy is chaos incarnate. The child has started many wars by himself. He breathes in the aftermaths and the beginnings of tragedy. He has been through a lot.

Sometimes Wilbur worries. Sometimes Wilbur forgets and doesn’t care. Tommy is a child with the experiences of a mature and hurt soul. Tommy can take care of himself.

He misses Tommy…

_ I miss that little rascal… _

Wilbur closes his eyes and stops strumming his guitar. Without his music, all he hears is the wind and the masked man’s happy, and yet distorted, music. It gets too quiet in here sometimes. And sometimes it gets so unbelievably  _ boring  _ that he… starts to revert back into…

“ _ Wilbur! _ ”

_ “... Hello TommyInnit…” _

… whoever he was back then.

The former president continues to strum his guitar. He has no idea how long he’s been playing with the instrument. Lately, he’s been doing exactly this. He’d sit down, take an instrument and play on hours, or days, or even more than that, on end. And he wouldn’t get tired. He’s a ghost, he doesn’t have muscles or bones anymore, so his fingers never get tired. He strums as if it’s muscle memory, however, and he automatically plays when deep in thought.

Sometimes he sings or hums, but honestly, what is there to sing about now?

And the world he’s in right now— it’s literally all empty and blank except for some grass and some wandering souls… they could choose to create a few things to entertain themselves, but it’s been a while since they’ve all died now. He has done so many things in the time that he was in here and he has gotten bored of so many of them, which is why he has had to revert back to his old hobbies in the first place.

He sometimes misses being alive, for that very reason; for he was bored of being dead. Sometimes, though. He only misses being alive sometimes. It was okay to be dead, especially with the way he went.

But sometimes he wishes something new comes, to entertain himself. Something from the living world.

“ _ Wilbur? _ ”

He stops playing his guitar and a smile forms on his pale grey face. It was as if the Devil was there to listen to him and grant him his wishes.

His guitar vanishes and he stands to his full height. The pail he was sitting on disappears as he turns around to face his visitor.

“Hello, Tommy…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pls follow me on twitter pls im funny @_Lee_Lopez_ (idk how to embed links or whatever)


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